People knew who he was. Nate Beckett was struggling to get over this. It wasn’t that they knew he was Admiral Alexander Beckett’s son; they were addressing him by rank, by name; wanting to stop and talk to him about the Vaadwaur campaign, Endeavour’s role in it, his role in it. What he’d expected to be a tiresome formal event of etiquette, protocol, and the gleaming disapproval of his father had instead become an evening buzzing with energy, discussion, engagement – with him at the heart of it. Even Anatras Thawn had seemed impressed.

‘That,’ Nate declared the moment they were through the doors back to their apartment in Port Faran, ‘went great.’

Rosara was plainly tired, her gaze expressionless as she regarded him. ‘I think my aunt was… actually quite charmed.’

‘What can I say?’ He leant down to kiss her cheek. ‘I’m a catch. Every Betazoid matriarch I’ve ever met thinks so.’

She looked like she might say something, only to give a sleepy smile and sigh. ‘That went well,’ she agreed.

When he eventually rose the next morning, the new message gleaming in his inbox made his heart sink. Summons from his father were usually an invitation to a lecture, explicit or through seething disapproval of his every life choice over coffee.

The sun shone brightly over Port Faran, and he expected temperatures where he could lounge on the beach in swim shorts and still need a cold drink to cool down. Reports had Alpha Centauri City a good few degrees lower, though, so he dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and slacks, grumbling as he moved around Rosara getting ready.

‘You were in a good mood about your father last night,’ she said, frowning as she watched him, still in a silk dressing gown and sat before long, sun-soaked windows with a coffee.

‘I was in a good mood about your aunt. Alexander behaves well in public.’

‘He seemed… sincere in his discussion of your work.’

He heard her pick her words carefully, and gave a rueful smile as he buttoned up the shirt. ‘He likes to stand next to me when I get public approval and by implication share credit. Remember the medal ceremony? He was a prick afterwards.’

Her brow furrowed further. ‘You literally saved a whole settlement and won an award for bravery.’

‘And didn’t leverage it for advancement. He’ll tell me now that I’m wasting opportunities.’ Nate shook his head. ‘Don’t let me ruin your day. You’ve got plans?’

‘Elsa just cancelled breakfast; said she was out late last night with Caede, running down leads on the Idol. She’s still in bed and wants to stay there,’ Rosara sighed. ‘But Airex has run down a local art show, so I might join him later on, have an early morning.’

‘Out late with Caede and still in bed, hm?’ Nate teased. ‘My, my, Elsa…’

‘Don’t. She’s finally making good choices with Mac.’ Rosara rolled her eyes.

‘Yes, but then you could enjoy the moral high ground of having a stable, successful relationship with a rising star if she’s going back to making terrible decisions with emotionally unavailable people she never has to commit to.’

‘She always said they’re casual, that she’s just dating, that she’s doing nothing wrong.’

‘I’d argue she’s doing nothing, and then pretending she’s above it all. And frankly…’ Nate winced. ‘Mac’s a nice guy. But they conveniently don’t see each other for months and he works for the kinds of Starfleet divisions where he could disappear forever and she’d be none the wiser. He might be personally a good choice. Long-term?’ He clicked his tongue and shook his head.

Rosara subsided grumpily. ‘I won’t tell her this over breakfast. Or tease her about Caede.’

‘This is why she keeps you on the back foot. You gotta tease her a little.’ He kissed her cheek and headed for the door. ‘I better run. Can’t disappoint Father Dearest.’

The transporter from Port Faran set him down in the heart of Alpha Centauri City. The morning sun was less searing here, but still gleamed onto the bright towers and over streets bustling with locals and visitors alike, all teeming with anticipation for the upcoming liberation celebrations. Although the air was more crisp here, the metallic scent of the city was softened by the trees lining the boulevards, the parkland he passed, the rooftop gardens bowing over the streets.

His father had picked a brunch venue settled on a side street off the main humming avenues, which surprised Nate until he saw it. Frosted glass and subtle gold lettering on the door made the tone clear: this was an exclusive venue, not to be wandered into casually, open for those who knew it.

A lift up a score of storeys led him to a breakfast room soaking up the morning sun and overlooking the city’s skyline, tables dressed in white linen, hot drinks served in fine china. Alexander Beckett was already seated at a window, posture immaculate, a pot of coffee waiting beside him. He looked up once at his son’s arrival, expression unreadable, and gestured to the empty chair opposite.

This was what passed for a warm welcome in the Beckett family. Nate slid into the chair and tried to not behave as if he were the sulky child his father made him feel like.

‘You could have let me sleep off the hangover,’ he grumbled, rubbing his forehead performatively, even though a glass of water and fresh air had already dismissed the very mild indulgences of the night before.

‘I could,’ said Admiral Beckett, giving the complaint the exact amount of patience it deserved. ‘I thought we could talk. Spend some time together.’

‘We did that last night.’

‘Just you and I. I assumed you would brush me off if I reached out. But you explained yesterday you had no plans this morning.’ He passed over a thin PADD with the menu on it, expression impassive.

‘Oh,’ said Nate tonelessly, and took quiet delight in deliberating for far too long over the breakfast options. ‘I should have known you’d behave in public last night, only to save it up for an ambush later.’

‘This isn’t an ambush,’ said Admiral Beckett, his chin tilting up. ‘This is breakfast. I don’t -’

‘Are these fresh eggs?’

‘…I expect so. Nathaniel -’

‘I fancy tea, too.’ He didn’t, but his father had already ordered the pot of coffee. Nate turned in his chair, flagging down a waiter. ‘Talk me through your breakfast tea blends.’

Admiral Beckett waited in taut silence as Nate demanded an intricate explanation of tea and eggs. Only the finger lightly tapping the rim of his coffee cup betrayed just how irritating he found it, which made Nate only enquire further into details of tea leaves he did not, in truth, care about.

‘Poached eggs, then. And your sourdough…’

‘That will be all, thank you,’ Admiral Beckett cut off, his gaze to the server curt and dismissive.

Nate raised an eyebrow as they were left alone. ‘You should be nicer to staff. They have a hard job.’

‘Stop it.’

It was like a game with no winners, or certainly where Nate couldn’t win. If he let his father control their conversations, he was left frustrated and trapped. If he pushed the boundaries but never broke them, it was like he’d been given a long leash, but was still playing within the parameters that had been laid out for him.

When he did push too far, and that stern, sharp edge of his father’s voice came in, he was suddenly twelve years old again. Nate’s mouth snapped shut and he sat up, shoulders tensing.

Admiral Beckett’s expression didn’t change in a way Nate knew meant he was keeping it under tight control. When he inhaled, his nostrils narrowed.

Then he said, ‘The reports from Commander Harrian and Fleet Captain Faust describe your service these past seven months as exemplary.’

Once Nate could finally summon a response, his, ‘That must have been difficult for you to admit,’ felt perfunctory even to him.

‘Why?’ came his father’s quick answer. ‘You have been given a position of prestige and respect, and you are excelling. Why would that bother me?’

Nate fiddled with a fork. ‘I had glowing reports from Rourke after the Tkon debacle. After the Century Storm. After Blood Dilithium.’

‘Whereupon you fled to an archivist role on a backwater station. Your sojourn as Pathfinder’s Chief Science Officer was brief, before you returned to Endeavour. There was nothing I could congratulate you for, and I have spent the past year observing. Besides…’ Admiral Beckett’s brow furrowed. ‘You did not want my congratulations.’

‘I didn’t say I wanted them now,’ Nate said, but it was another reflexive comment. A parry of a jibe, neither expressed with sincerity, the refusal of either man to meet in the middle a matter of habit more than anything else.

The waiter returned with his tea. Normally, such breaks in their fighting for propriety’s sake was a chance to rally and find the next blade they could jab at each other, but Nate politely thanked the man and was left with the echo of his own, rather empty retort in his ears. As the waiter walked off, he ground his teeth, fidgeting with his teapot, and said, ‘What do you want?’

Admiral Beckett’s stance eased a little. He put his hands before him on the fine white linens, his fingers a steeple, and leaned forwards. ‘Nate, I’m here to ask you what you want.’

Nate stared. ‘What?’

‘You are the Chief Intelligence Officer of a major starship in a major unit – I give the squadron key tasks, and Endeavour is routinely the ship on assignments most isolated from wider command structures, where the crew most need to show initiative in decision-making. Not only have you excelled in such circumstances, you have also, with your actions at Rencaris, demonstrated yourself not bound by merely your captain’s perspective or wishes – but able to appropriate assessments based on a…’ Admiral Beckett paused, gesticulating as he pulled words from the air. ‘…a wider geopolitical understanding.’

Nate bit the inside of his lip. ‘A Klingon-Rencaris accord could not be allowed to develop.’

‘Indeed. I do not criticise Captain Valance. She had to be seen to uphold Starfleet’s principles and protect our public image, and it would not have done if she’d appeared to meddle in such negotiations. Then you stepped in.’ Admiral Beckett lowered his hand, as if presenting a piece of evidence before he moved on. ‘Your work in the Vaadwaur liberation was, likewise, excellent. And I must say that I approve of Commander Thawn – though, I know, you don’t need or want my personal approval.’

‘She’s not as conservative as you like to think,’ said Nate, but he knew he was floundering, wrong-footed, desperately hunting for solid ground as his father changed the parameters of everything he knew about their dynamic. ‘She’s not a patsy for her aunt, she won’t bring you, I don’t know, the support of a Betazoid Great House -’

‘That would be convenient,’ Admiral Beckett agreed mildly, ‘but I have managed my political connections and bonds perfectly well for the last forty years without you ever assisting me. What I mean is that Commander Thawn is a well-regarded officer, a rising star in her own right, and you seem, with her, less…’

‘Less what?’ Nate asked, suspicious as his father’s voice trailed off.

A sigh. ‘Frantic. Unsure of yourself.’ At last, Admiral Beckett gave a shrug that spoke of uncertainty, even awkwardness. ‘You seem, dare I venture, happy.’

Like you’d know anything about my happiness. But Nate bit off the words before they escaped, pouring tea to buy time. ‘What do you mean, you want to ask what I want?’

Admiral Beckett settled back at that, more comfortable. ‘You have a stable career, one where you are finally putting your talents to their best use. One with prospects, opportunity, development. One where I am, finally, in a position… to support you, as you never before wanted me to.’

Nate’s throat tightened. ‘I don’t want to leave Endeavour – I don’t care what great staff role you have lined up -’

‘I’m not suggesting that. You’ve proven yourself an excellent intelligence officer for front-line starship service. I am saying that within this field, there are the traditional lines of communication, information, support – Captain Faust, Commander Harrian. And then there are… others.’ Admiral Beckett tilted his head an inch.

‘Oh.’ Nate stared. Then sat up. ‘Oh. You’re…’ He wagged a finger, confounded rather than objecting. ‘You’re recruiting me.’

‘I’m not sure what you’re…’

‘You have this – this network of little pets everywhere! And, what, I’ve finally impressed you enough that you’ll bring me in to your little clubhouse?’

His father plainly resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ‘I am the Director of Fourth Fleet Intelligence, and it is sometimes suitable for me to have officers across the length and breadth of not just the fleet, but Starfleet, upon whom I know I can count directly. You have proven yourself more than capable. A promising intelligence officer. One of whom I can be… proud.’

Nate had been drawing a breath to cut him off until the last word, which hit him like a sucker punch. ‘Proud,’ he echoed, suddenly toneless.

A shift of the shoulder. ‘I notice you, because you are my son. Of course I have monitored you, kept abreast of your progress. I’m having this conversation… because you’ve proven yourself.’

Age-old instincts roared in Nate’s chest, screaming at him to stand up, to walk away. That he didn’t want to prove himself to a man like the admiral, that it was a mark of shame to be counted as a possible asset, that he in no way wanted, craved, desperately needed, like all sons, the approval of his father –

His throat all but closed, and he had to take a swig of tea to clear it. His voice rasped when he finally had a response. ‘Proven myself for what?’

The tight smile on Admiral Alexander Beckett’s face made it clear he knew he’d won. ‘Exactly. Let me ask again, Nathaniel: what do you want?’